First Christmas
by staceycj
Summary: Dean's first Christmas with Lisa and Ben.
1. Chapter 1

Dean heard the familiar strains of Christmas music as he entered the house from the garage carrying the last of the boxes that were labeled "Christmas decorations", and he tried not to let the sour feeling that was upsetting his stomach show on his face. He couldn't ruin the holiday for Lisa and Ben just because he wasn't feeling it.

He was having a very hard time getting into all of this Christmas stuff. God had given up on him, had let his little brother be possessed by his pissy youngest son, and allowed Sam to fall into a pit and be locked inside of hell for all of eternity, so Dean was having a difficult time getting into the season. But his new little family loved the holiday and they were excited, and he couldn't ruin their Christmas just because he was bitter.

Lisa turned when he walked in the living room and smiled, and his heart melted a little. Her smile reminded him why he was even participating in this holiday. He put the box down where Lisa directed.

"Thanks Dean."

"No problem."

"Could you please string the lights? I get them all tangled every year." Ben laughed at his mother's statement.

"One year, mom had them so tangled on the tree that we had to throw away the tree and the lights because we couldn't get them off." Dean tried to smile.

"So, yeah, I think it would be less of a fire hazard if you did it." She smiled and handed him a strand of lights.

"Yeah, don't want to have to call the fire department." Dean said and began his task of testing lights and stringing them, as Lisa came back and forth from the kitchen carrying cookies and cocoa.

He strung the lights, and his hands hesitated once in a while when grief overcame him, and he forced his thoughts past his baby brother giving him the one last Christmas he wanted, the Christmas that hurt his little brother to give, the one that had air freshener ornaments, and dollar store lights that didn't work very well, and that had cheap egg nog kicked up ten notches too high with alcohol.

His grief spilled over into anger as they filled the tree with ornaments, ones that sang, ones that blinked, ones that sparkled in the lights. He and Sam had never needed something this gaudy, this commercial. They only needed each other and thrown together decorations to make the holiday special. It was about family, it was about those you loved being near you. This superficial crap was just that, crap. He wanted to thrown the glass ball he held in his hand against the wall. Wanted that glass ball to shatter into a million pieces, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs that this wasn't fair, that his brother should be here.

Instead, he licked his lips, bit them, bit his cheek, and did everything he could to keep the bitter words from spilling, stopping only when blood began to pool inside his mouth. The salty metal taste of blood pushed him just over the edge into the abyss of memories that had no place anywhere during this time of year full of cheer and goodness, and belonged more with the jack-o-lanterns of Halloween. Memories of hell clouded his vision, that was something he could handle, had handled for the last two, going on three years. That wasn't what made him want to fall apart, what threw him into a panic was the thought that instead of being here, with Dean, decorating a real or make shift motel tree, Sam was in hell, being tortured, probably tortured worse than Dean could imagine, and Dean was celebrating, turning a blind eye to his brother's sacrifice, to his brother's suffering.

"I'll be right back." Dean said when he couldn't take it anymore. He turned and went to the master bathroom as quickly as he could, without looking like he was running, he couldn't destroy Lisa and Ben's holiday with his nonsense. He turned on the water, began to brush his teeth, trying to brush the taste of bitterness and betrayal out of his mouth, and with it the thoughts that were coming in unrelenting flashes. It didn't work. He brushed his teeth for ten minutes and all he got for his trouble was sore gums and a bloody toothbrush.

Spitting out the blood and toothpaste, putting the toothbrush back in its holder, he reached for a cup, his hands shaking the whole way. He filled the cup, and his shaky hands sloshed water from the cup onto his shirt as he took a sip of water to rinse his mouth out. He looked up, checked his reflection in the mirror, he had to look normal, he had to look like he had his shit together. Lisa expected that he was over the bulk of his grief for his brother, he couldn't go back in there looking like he had lied, looking like he was falling apart at the seams. That wasn't fair to Ben and Lisa.

What he saw in the mirror was worse than he imagined. He was pale and shattered looking, but most of all he saw who he really was: a traitor, a betrayer, a sham, a liar. That was what he had become. In his promise to "be normal" he was betraying his brother. It was hard to accept that.

He took a deep breath, threw water on his face, and pinched his cheeks trying to get the color back into them, and he threw on his best happy face and returned to the holiday festivities.

The tree was decorated, Ben was attaching the last of the tinsel, and he stood and watched. Lisa snaked an arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked.

"It is."

"Our first Christmas together." She said with a happy sigh. _My first Christmas without a brother, Sam's first Christmas in hell_.

"Yeah. Our first Christmas together."

"Done!" Ben announced.

"It's awesome babe!" Lisa said with a laugh. The three of them gathered in front of the tree, and Lisa reached behind Dean and turned off the lights, and the tree twinkled and sparkled and looked like something out of a magazine. Lisa and Ben oohed and ahhed. Dean starred, and wished that Sam was here, wished that it was a little make shift Winchester tree with car freshener ornaments and dime store lights, but it wasn't. It was a tree made for a family, a real family, a family that had all of the key elements. And he suddenly understood why Sam craved normal all of those years. He assumed they weren't a family because they didn't share this kind of thing, they didn't have a tree and lights, and presents in the closet waiting to be wrapped. Dean wasn't ever able to provide that for Sam, and he had gone elsewhere to find it. Dean felt ashamed, and stupid, he had tried so hard to be able to give Sam what he wanted, and it took Sam dying and going to hell for one of them to actually have the real deal, and Dean couldn't help but think, he should be the one rotting in hell and Sam should be here enjoying this "normal" Christmas.


	2. Chapter 2

ean wasn't a stranger to the Christmas hustle and bustle, but he had always been on the outside looking in. He was the one who would walk down the street, and be the only person not in a hurry to get anywhere, or to buy anything. He liked looking at the lights, the displays in the windows of the really old mom and pop stores that still did the moving displays. When he got older, sometimes he'd make an excuse to go to those little towns again around this time of the year, just so he could go to the stores and watch the display for just a little while. He took Sammy when they were kids, he loved the moving parts, wanted to know how they worked. It was their form of Christmas magic. They couldn't afford the toys inside, but no one ever told them they were too poor to watch the displays, or enjoy the Christmas lights. It was their thing, it was sometimes the only mention of Christmas the two shared.

It was strange this year. He was supposed to be "Joe normal" and celebrate the holiday like a typical working middle class man, and he found that he didn't like it so well. If scouring the globe looking for just the right toy, or just the right scent of perfume or the right size shirt was what a normal Christmas was, he wasn't thinking that he missed a whole lot.

It was late, and he was hurrying through the toy store, and he had one last place to go before the stores closed, and he would be done with his portion of the list, and he could go home, wrap the truck load of crap that he and Lisa had purchased. He sighed. Being normal was more work than he ever would have thought.

He was rushing by the mall Santa heaving children on his lap when he saw the display in the bookstore. Something made him stop and he looked in the brightly lit glass display. The book in the front was the one Sam had been talking about a lot in the last year. It was by his favorite author, who hadn't written a book in almost three years, and he was ecstatic to read the new one, it would continue the adventure that began in the first book. Dean knew all about it, knew the characters, the plot, knew all about the author, knew all about the new book, when it would be released all of it. Dean had never read one single page of the book, or looked up one fact about the author or the new book; he had listened to Sam talk about it while they drove to one hunt or another. He missed listening to Sam. Before he knew what he was about, he had the book purchased and in a bag on his arm with the rest of the gifts. He hurried to the next store, to the next purchase, trying to ignore what he had just done.

SNSNSNSNSN

Dean had gone out to finish the last of the Christmas shopping so Lisa and Ben could have time alone. Lisa never had to ask for time alone with Ben, Dean just seemed to know when the two of them needed their special time.

"Mom, I need more glitter." Ben called from the dining room. She smiled as she looked into the oven, checking on the cookies they had made earlier. She loved this time with him, every year they baked cookies and made new stockings for themselves. The stocking were a ritual born out of her lack of organizational skills when she was younger. Every year she thought she knew where she packed them, and every year she lost them, and they had to make new ones. Now, she knew where all of them were, but there was something about sitting at the table and making stockings with her son. Each stocking was like a testament to who he was that year, and it was her way of keeping a scrapbook.

"You used the entire bottle already? We only have to make stocking for three people, and I've already made mine." She said and couldn't help but smile at the number of stockings this year. Having Dean with her this year was a gift that she never expected to be given.

"Yeah, all of the silver is gone."

"Okay, I'll get some more." She dug through the bag that was on the counter and found the second bottle of silver glitter that her son had insisted that she get this year, and headed into the dining room and found Ben and Dean's stockings sitting next to hers on the card table she had set up to let the stockings dry.

"Ben…what are you doing?" She asked confused and set the glitter down in front of her son.

"I'm making a stocking for Sam." He said innocently and went for the glitter and poured it over the big letter S on the top of the stocking.

"Don't you think this will make Dean feel bad?" she asked as she slipped into the chair next to her son.

"No. Dean will like it." Ben said knowingly.

"Are you sure…I don't know if we should put it up." Lisa was scared to death that Dean would see it and bolt. Sam was a sensitive subject, and she pretended like she didn't see the drinking binges, or notice the ancient book that he kept on his nightstand that was written in Latin and had violent pictures of what she assumed was hell and Lucifer in it.

Whenever she said something about Sam, or asked, he clammed up, said that he didn't want, or couldn't talk about it, so she wasn't sure how he would handle having something with his baby brother's name emblazoned on the front.

"I don't know baby."

"Dean misses his brother. And if I didn't have you at Christmas I'd want one." He said as he worked carefully on the rest of Sam's name. "You think it should be Sam, or Sammy? Dean called him both when we were rescuing the kids from the Changelings, but he only calls him Sam now."

"I don't know baby. I don't know much about his brother." She said and rested her head in her hand and watched with worry as he son made Sam's stocking.


	3. Chapter 3

Lisa was cleaning up the mess in the dining room while Ben cleaned the mess he had made of himself, when Dean came inside, stomping snow off of his boots.

"It's me Lis." He said softly, she noted that his voice sounded empty and tired. She wondered if it was because he was tired, or if it had anything to do with the season. Ever since they put up the Christmas tree, Dean had been quieter and introverted.

"I'm in the dining room cleaning up the mess the little monster left behind." She called, and listened as Dean went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, opened the beer, closed the refrigerator, and started in her direction.

"I'll tell you what," he said from the doorway, one hand in his pocket the other raising a beer to his lips. He took a long pull from the bottle and ten continued, "people are nuts when they are on a search for specific things. I mean, I had a little old woman about knock me over trying to get to something on the shelf next to me."

Lisa turned and smiled. "Yeah, that is definitely true. Couple years back, I thought this woman was going to fight me for the toy in my hand. It's interesting."

He took another long pull from the beer and then gestured to the table. "The glitter attack the kid or something?"

She laughed. "No. More like the other way around. Every single stocking is covered in glitter." She sighed as she funneled more of the lose glitter into a jar. "He's in the bath, he should only get maybe ten percent of the glitter off of him."

Dean stepped forward. "You want help?" he asked.

"Nah. Your company is perfect." He nodded and went back to resting against the door frame and watching Lisa clean a little. While the silence lasted Lisa debated telling Dean about the stocking or just allowing him to see it on his own, when Ben came clomping down the stairs, yelling for Dean and not giving Lisa the opportunity to make the decision.

"Dean! I made you a stocking."

"You did? Thanks kiddo!" he said with a big grin.

"Yeah. Wanna see it?" he asked.

"Of course." Dean flashed Lisa a smile and followed Ben to the living room where the finished and dry stockings were hung.

"See. I made this one for mom, she helped. This one is mine." He said pointing to the one with the music notes all over it. "This one is yours." He said and pointed to the one with a car on it, with a snowman in the background. "Mom said that they should have something wintery on them. She's such a girl." He mumbled. But before Ben could introduce the final stocking, Dean saw it, and he swallowed, trying to push the lump that had instantly appeared in his throat into his stomach. "This one is for Sam. I didn't know if I should put Sam or Sammy on it. So I figured I'd just put Sam, and if you wanted Sammy I could fix it."

Dean licked his lips. "Sam is fine. He liked to be called Sam. Always hated when I called him Sammy."

"Really?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. He hated it." He reached out and touched the stocking and pulled it closer to him to inspect the picture.

"I don't know what Sam likes, and I can't draw really well, so I just made that." It was two stick figures one larger than the other together, brothers.

"Sam would like it a lot."

Ben shrugged. "I just didn't think it was fair that I had mom and mom has me and you didn't have anyone."

The cold reality of that statement bit into him like a winter frost, and it took all he had to keep from letting the tears spring to his eyes. "Thank you Ben. I love it." While Dean was able to keep most of his emotions locked behind the wall that had been fortified overt the years, his voice contained a grit to it that told the story of his emotions. Lisa watched from the sidelines and her heart fell amongst her knees, she was so worried that he would break, and that the stocking on the mantle for a dead brother would be the final straw.

However, Dean surprised her. Instead of walking away, or shutting down, or trying to run away, he took a breath and started to talk. "When we were little, Christmas was Sammy's favorite thing. It was one of the only times that all of us were together, and Sam always liked that."

"All of you?"

"Me, my dad, and Sam. Our mom died when Sam was 6 months old. He never knew her, so it was just us." Dean paused, never taking his eyes from the stocking. "He used to believe in Christmas magic, Santa and the whole nine." Dean swallowed and licked his lips. "But when we got older, my dad didn't stick around, he had hunts to go on, and other people to save, and he had to find the thing that killed our mom, and it was just me and Sam. I was never able to give Sam the kind of Christmas he wanted after that. He started going to friend's houses and staying, or he'd mope around the apartment or motel we were staying at. I wasn't family enough." Dean said finally. A tear slipped down Lisa's cheek. Dean looked down at Ben and he looked up, Dean smiled a watery smile. "Sam would be very happy to have a stocking on a mantel, with family, a real family on it. That would have made him very very happy. Thank you Ben."

Ben nodded and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist.

SNSNSN

It was late. Dean knew it was late. But he couldn't stop himself from slipping out of bed, getting his cell phone, and going out into the garage and sitting in the Impala.

He dialed. "Bobby?" he asked softly.

"Boy? Are you hurt? Is something the matter?"

"No."

"Then why in the hell are you calling this late?"

"Just thinking about Sam, and I needed to hear a friendly voice." He admitted.

"I'm sorry boy."

Dean shrugged. "Telling Ben about him, made me think about the Christmas he gave me the amulet. Then it made me think of when I threw it away in front of him. Just thinking about him, and missing him is all. So, anyway, just thought I'd call and say…Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas Dean. You can come down any time boy. I would like to see you."

A tear streamed down Deans' cheek, and he frustrated wiped it away. "Soon." He said and they both knew that was a lie. "Talk to you later Bobby."

"Merry Christmas Dean." Dean hung up. Bobby looked over at Sam.

"That was your brother."

"I gathered. Is he okay?"

"He's fine."

"What did he want?"

"To hear a friendly voice at Christmas."

"Oh." Sam wanted to know more, but he couldn't risk sounding interested, Bobby might catch a weakness and convince him to go to Lisa's and tell Dean he was back.

"You are one stubborn son of a bitch." Bobby said with resignation.

"It's for his own good."

Bobby snorted. "I wish the two of you would quit trying to do what is "best" for the other. Because what you think is best and what is best, are two different things you stubborn ass. It's Christmas." Sam's face was stone. He was steadfast in his decision to keep Dean in the dark about his return from hell.

"Whatever kid. You think what you want. I'm going to bed."

"Night Bobby." He said and went back to reading the book that was in front of him. When he heard Bobby close his door, he pulled the amulet from his pocket and held it, looked at it, and put it back in his pocket. He missed Dean, but Dean deserved a rest, he deserved a family, Dean deserved to be happy, and Lisa would make him happy, Ben would make him happy. All Sam could do was bring misery and pain. That wasn't what you gave someone for Christmas.


	4. Chapter 4

When they were little, after Dean ruined a Christmas by telling Sam the truth of their life, Sam started doing what Sam always did best: learning, researching, finding answers to questions that were always present in his overactive mind. And the following Christmas, which happened to be the one in which there was so little money Dean was so concerned with finding enough money to feed his little brother he had totally forgot it was Christmas, the brothers, on Christmas eve, were sitting at a local soup kitchen, which wounded Dean's pride more than words could express, and Sam had started talking.

"You know." He began, eyes focused on his food. "Most kids today are at home, by the fireplace, telling their parents what they want for Christmas. Or they are with their grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, eating food that all of the girls in the family prepared. It's warm, cozy, and a wonderful day, everything is always good, no one fights, no one is in a soup kitchen eating food that isn't very good, but eating it all up because they aren't sure if they will eat tomorrow or not. Christmas is supposed to be a time of lights, family, happiness, and love. Not this." All had been said without malice or anger. Sam wasn't reproaching Dean, he was simply telling him the facts as he knew them. The tone and the gentleness hadn't softened the blow, hadn't made Dean feel like any less of a failure, and Dean had vowed then that he would figure out how to give Sam what he wanted.

The next Christmas Dean had arranged for someone in the neighborhood to ask Sam to stay with them for the holidays. He had been 16, and that Christmas was the template for the next ten years.

Sam came back from Stanford in November, and he was quiet and angry, and Dean never got a very good picture of what his life had been like while he was at the fancy school, and he had a very hard time asking Sam about it. But on Christmas Eve, Sam got a little drunk, and told Dean about the Christmas previous, and how it was full of lights, warmth, family, and good food. It was exactly what Sam said it should be like all of those years ago. Here it was their first Christmas together, and they were in a motel, booze their only source of warmth, and unable to find their father, their only living family, and Dean had looked down into his drink and felt just as inadequate as he had all of those years ago when they were sitting at the soup kitchen.

Now, he was stoking the fire, helping Lisa get the house ready for her family, and Dean felt guilty. This was the life Sam was supposed to have. This was the life Sam craved all of his life, and he only had it for three years, he deserved it for a lifetime, not just those couple of years at Stanford.

His brooding was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and Ben's feet pounding the linoleum as he ran to answer the door. Dean stood up from his crouch beside the fire and took a deep breath. He wasn't ready for this. He shouldn't be the one here. He should be in the car, alone, or in hell alone, he should be alone, Sam should be here, Sam should have this life, this comfort, this luxury.

"Grandma! Grandpa!" Ben grabbed both around their middles and hugged them tight. Those words ushered in the biggest whirl wind of Dean's life.

There were people, introductions, presents, food, laughter, people, more people, more introductions, people asking him about his family, people asking him about his life, about his past, about his brother when he dared say something about him, and it was all too much. Caring and sharing had always been a difficulty for Dean, and he felt like he was swimming in a sea full of sharks, and he would survive as long as he kept moving, kept treading water, fought for his life. The bombardment of people, conversation and questions elicited the same flight or fight response he normally experienced when on a hunt, and if this had been a hunt he would have retreated, he would have told Sam to get his ass back in the car and they would have peeled out of here so fast he would have had to replace the tires at the nearest mechanic.

And he did indulge his flight response as often as he could, he would escape to the back yard and get firewood for the fire place, and he would take as long as he could. But inevitably he would have to go back inside and when he did he had to handle the barrage of questions all over again. He felt like he was at the inquisition. He felt trapped. He didn't understand how this could be celebrating anything; he didn't understand how all of this was a good thing.

He craved for what he had come to call Christmas, he craved for a game to be on, for he and Sam to be sitting on a cheep couch, feet propped, beer in hand, watching a game, stupid decorations littering the room. He missed the quiet, the simplicity of their past adult celebrations.

Then like magic, everyone was gone. One person said that they needed to go and get the little ones to bed because Santa Clause was coming to give good boys and girls toys and goodies, and as soon as that was said, it seemed that everyone had their coats, scarves, mittens, and hats on and they were out the door, Lisa hugging and kissing everyone and smiling like there was no tomorrow.

The door was closed, and suddenly the house felt empty. "You enjoy yourself?" Dean asked, shoving the plethora of wrapping paper that was scattered all over the living room into a trash bag.

"Yeah." She said with a satisfied sigh. "Ben!" She yelled and the kid just appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"Yeah mom?"

"Go get ready for bed."

"But….I want to play…"

"Bed."

"Mom."

"Don't argue with your mother Ben." Dean said, Ben sighed, gave the stink eye to Dean, and headed up the stairs.

SNSNSNSNSN

The house was clean, the tree was filled with gifts for only Lisa, Ben, and Dean and all in the house was quiet, except for Dean who was sitting in front of the dying fire, looking at the stocking that was emblazoned with Sam's name and was stuffed with Sam's gift, the gift that Sam would never open, never read, never know about.

Dean threw back the last of the whisky in his hand and tried to shut out the thoughts, the visions of Sam in Hell tonight, suffering at the hands of Lucifer, and locked inside his own head with the purest evil ever known. But his mind wouldn't stop running instant replays of own personal time in Hell. His heart and body betrayed him with thundering heart and sweating, and his soul chimed in with the guilt of allowing his baby brother, the one person on earth that he had sworn to protect with his life, fall into the pit while mind wrestling with evil.

"God." Dean mumbled, voice thick and sad. He sat down on the couch, and put his head in between his legs. "God, Sam. I'm so sorry."

A hand snaked across his shoulders and he jerked up. Lisa's concerned eyes greeted him. He wiped tears from his eyes.

"I wish Sam could have been here."

"Me too." Dean said thankful for the understanding.

"He would have liked today." Dean licked his lips. "He loved Christmas when he was young. Then when he got older, he wanted a Christmas like this. I couldn't give it to him." Dean looked at the Christmas tree and sighed. "That is what he always wanted, he deserves to be here experiencing this."

"So do you Dean." Lisa said after a moment. "You deserve to be happy too." He nodded and wished there was more whisky. "You aren't happy." She added softly.

"Lis…"

"It isn't about me or Ben. I know that you love us. But, you aren't happy."

He didn't have anything to say. She was right. How could he say that out loud? "I wish I could give you your brother for Christmas." She said softly and caressed his hair. "That was my Christmas wish this year. That Sam would come back, that Sam would knock on that door and come and be a part of our lives. I want you to be happy." She said with tears flowing.

Dean shook his head. "No. No. We can't do this. I can't let you be sad on Christmas. That's not fair to you or Ben. I'm sorry." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Go to bed."

"But I can let you be sad and uncomfortable all day and that's all right?"

Dean closed his eyes and wished that he wasn't so transparent to her. "I just have to get used to things. Go to bed sweetie." Lisa sighed and stood.

"Only five more minutes. I want you in bed."

"I'll be right there." Dean acknowledged. Lisa turned and left him to his solitude. Dean starred at his brother's name for a few minutes longer and gathered himself, his emotions, his soul together and started for the stairs when a knock at the door stopped him in his tracks.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so sorry. I posted the wrong end to this story. I'm deeply sorry. Thanks to those who corrected me!**

Dean turned slowly and allowed his senses to guide him. The air didn't' feel especially cold or still on his skin, and the sounds of the house were still all around him, and he didn't smell any kind of sulfur, but that didn't stop him from pulling the knife that was in his boot, and approaching the door from the side.

"Who is it?" he called holding the knife at his hip.

"Boy, let me in." Came a gruff and frustrated voice. Dean knew that voice. He looked through the peep hole and saw Bobby. Dean licked his lips, and opened the door slowly.

"Bobby? What are you doing here?" Dean asked after a moment of starring at the elder hunter.

"It's Christmas. Thought I would visit on my way to New York."

"New York?"

"There's a vampire nest out there that needs taken care of."

"Oh."

"Boy, are you going to let me in or not?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, yeah." Dean stepped away from the door, keeping the knife close to his hip. Bobby walked inside the house, into the devil's trap that was underneath the door, and through it, and Dean breathed a little easier.

"Trap under the rug?" Bobby asked as he turned.

"Yeah."

"Good man." Dean smiled. Bobby stepped forward and embraced the younger man.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked again trying to catch him off guard, forcing him to tell the truth.

Bobby shrugged. "Headed to New York for a hunt."

"And you stopped?"

"It is Christmas."

"Bobby…" Dean said disbelievingly.

"Okay fine. Your phone call worried me a little. You happy?"

"Are we having a chick flick moment?"

"Hey!" Bobby said in a chastising tone. "I seem to remember you initiating several chick flick moments in the year before…" The unsaid words seemed to take on a life of their own, becoming like one of the many invisible nasties they hunt, and wrapping itself around them and squeezing tighter and tighter until Bobby took a breath.

"Well, I also wanted to give you your Christmas present."

Dean's brow knit together. "Present?"

"Yeah you knuckle head. It's Christmas. It's what people do."

"But we've never…."

Bobby shrugged. "I saw this and I thought of you. Thought you would like to have it. Come on. It's in the car." Bobby turned and went back into the cold Indiana night, and Dean followed behind confused.

When they approached the car, the car door opened, and Dean had the knife back out in an instant, and as soon as the thing was out of the car, Dean had the knife at it's throat. He looked up and his body stiffened. The thing looked like Sam.

"What? You figured a way out of your cage?" Dean growled through his clenched teeth.

"No, Dean it's me. It's really me." Dean's eyes shifted slightly to Bobby, and the older hunter nodded.

"It is him." Dean looked back into his brother's face. He backed away, the knife falling with a clatter onto the frozen concrete.

"Sammy?"

"It's me Dean." Dean with purpose and gravity moved into his brother and hugged him with a ferocity that even when he had restored Sam to the living he hadn't had.

"Merry Christmas Dean." Bobby said. Dean, held onto his brother, his tears, his worries, and his fears. Right that second he wanted to bask in the glow that there really and truly was such a thing as Christmas miracles and that men with the last name of Winchester were finally able to have one.


End file.
